7. Tristan
“ H ow’s it going?” Lucky asks as I pull into the garage.
“It’s going.” I rotate my shoulders in slow circles, enjoying the post-workout soreness. Evie never got back to me about going with her to Phoenix Rising, so I went by myself. I was pleasantly surprised to find a glossier, more versatile version of Callaghan’s—kick boxing and punching bags, jiu jitsu mats, a ring, even a bunch of Cross-Fit bros running around outside.
So, I got a day pass and punched a bag around for a while. Worked out on the machines. I even rolled on the mats for a while with one of the instructors. I gave him a heads-up about my arm, so we took it easy, but it felt good to be back. I’m tired now, though, and Evie never did show up.
“Doyle still giving you the run-around?”
“Of course, he is,” I say with a scoff. Grabbing my gym bag, I get out of the car and head inside. “I’m paying him another visit tomorrow morning, though—at the distillery this time.”
Lucky’s sigh crackles over the line. “Let me know how it goes. I don’t want you having to waste any more time than necessary down there.”
His words leave me unexpectedly ambivalent. He’s right, obviously. I’m here for a very specific reason, and the sooner that’s handled, the sooner I can go home. But there’s something about Evie’s situation with her shady ex that just doesn’t sit right with me. Men like that are used to getting what they want, and when they don’t, things can take a turn.
And yeah, I know she’s capable of taking care of herself … she’s proven that and then some. But still.
“Randall is used to being large and in charge, right?” I say, remembering the constipated look on his face the other morning. “When I showed up at his house, out of the blue, it reminded him that he doesn’t have the upper hand anymore—we do.”
“Yeah, I bet he hates that shit,” Lucky says with a chuckle.
“I thought if I gave him some breathing room he’d come around, but he’s even more stubborn than I realized.”
“He’s playing games. The fact that I discussed all of this with him when I came to Savannah, but we’re still exactly where we started should tell you something.”
Dropping my bag on the kitchen floor, I pour myself a glass of water. “Remember that family Kenny told me about? The Deschamps?”
“What about ‘em?” Lucky’s voice sharpens.
I fill him in on Cole’s behavior with Evie and what went down the other night, the implications our encounter might have, knowing that he’s a son of the infamous Deschamps crew.
“What the fuck? That’s it, no more of this Lone Ranger shit. I’m sending down some of the boys,” Lucky says, agitated. “Handling business with Doyle is one thing, dealing with a family like that is another. I know you know what I’m saying, Tristan.”
“All right.” I relent, rubbing my eyes as I lean against the counter. “Send Finn and Malachi. Maybe Timmy, too. He has people down here, doesn’t he?”
“I think so. And Atlanta, I think? I’ll definitely send him,” Lucky says. “And I’m gonna look into the Deschamps from my end, see what I can find. We might have mutuals if they’re into anything.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” I walk over to the window and gaze out at the street, headlights piercing the dim, dusky blue. “They don’t exactly fly under the radar around here. I’m sure they’re into more shit than people realize.”
“Hold on,” he says. I hear Liam’s exuberant voice in the background, followed by a burst of barking. Lucky responds to his son before coming back on the line. “Sorry, just got home.”
“It’s cool.” Hearing my nephew’s voice like that tugs my heart. I miss him. I miss home. “Go on ahead—we’ll talk later.”
“Alright, and Tris?”
“Yeah?”
“Hold off on seeing Doyle for now,” says Lucky. “Wait until the boys get there.”
I’m in the bedroom after a long shower, a towel wrapped around my waist, when my phone emits a funny sound. Curious, I check the notification, which is from a security app I installed just this morning. It’s connected to a trio of cameras—aimed at the front door, garage, and alley between this house and the one next door—and it’s as basic as they come, but I needed something after that fight the other night.
Opening the app, I navigate to the alley camera, which is the one that went off. There aren’t any first-floor doors or windows on that side, but the alley itself leads to the rear of the house. The sun’s gone down, so it’s hard to see, but there are two figures walking down the path. Now, this could be nothing. The house I’m staying in is right off a main street in a busy part of the historic district. People walk by, gawking and taking pictures of the homes on this strip, all the time.
But that doesn’t stop me from grabbing my gun, shutting off the light and moving over to the window. My bedroom just so happens to face the back of the house, where these two should be emerging in just a second. I check the video feed again. They’re just rounding the corner. I peek through the window, angling the blinds a little.
Two guys, jeans and hoodies. In this heat. A flare of adrenaline soars through my veins, and I take a slow, measured breath, needing to keep calm. They hang around for a minute, then go back the way they came. On my phone, I watch them walk back down the alley, at which point I switch to the front door feed where I can see some of the street. But they don’t reappear.
Flying downstairs, I turn off the lights and look through one of the picture windows in the living room. They’re outside, getting into a dark-colored truck across the street. One of them looks back at the house, and though I know he can’t see anything, it feels like he’s staring straight at me.
An hour later I’m in my rental, driving toward the nearest supermarket. I probably could’ve saved myself the trouble by ordering in, but I didn’t feel like hanging around and doing nothing, all antsy because a couple of randos may or may not have been casing my place. I keep one eye on the road ahead and the other on my surroundings, alert for the possibility of a tail. But there’s nothing, no one, to worry about. Not yet, anyway.
It's good Lucky’s sending the guys. I’ll feel better when I have backup.
Anyway, I heard this supermarket has killer subs. At the deli counter, I order a chicken tender sub with the works, then wander the aisles for a while, indiscriminately tossing stuff into my cart. Fruit, salad mixes, and protein bars land beside corn chips and brownies from the bakery. This is why they say not to go shopping when you’re hungry.
“Hey,” a sweet, vaguely familiar voice says, interrupting my perusal of the ice cream section. “Evie’s friend!”
I turn slowly, surprised that anybody would know me around here. It’s Evie’s other friend, Opal, from the bar. She’s in glasses, a long skirt and a blouse tonight. “Oh, hi Opal. What’s up?”
“Hi.” She grins sheepishly, tapping her finger to her chin. “I know your name starts with a ‘T’ …”
“Tristan,” I supply, giving her a friendly smile. Her shopping cart is full to the brim. “Having a party or something?”
“What?” She follows my gaze. “I wish. That’s just a week’s worth of groceries.”
“For what, a small village?”
She giggles. “My mama likes to cook for everybody, and I mean everybody .”
I nod, remembering Evie talking about post-church brunches and weekday dinners with Opal’s folks—a found family type situation. After what I’ve seen of Randall Doyle lately, I don’t blame her.
“Have you spoken to Evie today?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“Then I’m glad I ran into you.” She lowers her voice, sliding her cart closer. “You got her number though, right? You need to give her a call. ”
“I’ve been trying, but she won’t pick up.” I frown. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
“It might not be my place, but …” She huffs sharply. “I think y’all need to talk. From what she’s told me about you, you might be the only one able to help her out.”
Evie talks to Opal about me? Filing that away for later, I pull my phone from my back pocket and call Evie then and there. It goes straight to voicemail, as per usual, and I point to the screen, disconnecting. “See? She’s dodging me. She always does.”
With an annoyed sigh, Opal yanks her phone from her purse and walks a few feet away as she dials. I’ve interrogated enough people to know when they have info, and right now it’s obvious that Opal knows plenty but that her loyalty to Evie is keeping her quiet. I watch as she has a brief, hushed conversation before coming back to me.
“She’s gonna come by my house in about twenty minutes,” she says. “I told her I had something for her.”
Ah, so Evie will pick up for Opal but not for me. Good to know. “Okay?”
“Follow me home,” she says like I’m slow on the uptake. “She can’t avoid you if you’re already at my house.”
“I could do that, or I could just show up at her house like I did yesterday and make her talk to me,” I say, but I already know I’ll probably listen to Opal.
She raises an eyebrow. “Not a good idea. Trust me.”
“If you say so.” I nod toward the front of the store. “I’m gonna go check out, then. Meet you in the parking lot?”
“That works.” She nods, pushing her cart alongside mine.
“Why does Evie avoid me so much, you think?” I ask, wondering if she has any insight on this. “Is it because of the shit with her dad?”
“Uh-uh.” Opal smiles a little, shaking her head. “You’ll have to ask her that yourself.”
Opal lives in a tidy neighborhood, the tree-lined streets full of old, ranch style houses. Her driveway is full of cars, so I park on the street, hurrying over to help carry her groceries .
“Eddie, open the door,” she yells, kicking the front door with her sandal. “My arms are full!”
Seconds later the door swings open to reveal a guy I just sparred with at Phoenix Rising a little while ago. We both freeze in confusion, his eyes bouncing between me and Opal.
Opal thrusts her bags at him. “Tristan, this is my brother, Eddie. Eddie?—"
“Yeah, we met,” he says slowly, giving me a suspicious once-over. “At the studio.”
“Oh, for real?” Opal beams at me. “Yeah, that’s right—Evie did say you were a jiu jitsu master!”
I follow Eddie into the kitchen while Opal returns to the car for the rest of her stuff. “Small word, man, huh—how you know my sister?” he asks, setting the bags down on the linoleum floor.
“I hung out with her and Evie at the bar the other night,” I explain. “I’ve known Evie since we were kids, though.”
“Hmm.” Eddie takes my bags and puts them beside his. “So, how long you been sparring? You didn’t let up on that mat tonight, not even for a minute. Not even with your arm.”
“Most of my life. I used to compete on the regs,” I admit.
“Tristan?” Evie couldn’t sound more shocked if she tried. I glance back as she follows Opal into the kitchen. She’s in raggedy sweatpants and an old tank top, her hair pulled into a sloppy bun. She looks even paler than usual, her eyes ringed in red. “What … what’re you doing here? You know Eddie?”
“He’s not here for Eddie.” Opal puts her bags on the counter and points to a door in the kitchen. “You need to tell him what’s going on, Evie. Y’all can talk on the patio.”
Evie’s face turns pink, from anger or embarrassment I’m not sure. “What is this, an ambush?”
“An intervention,” Opal says crisply as Eddie looks on in thinly veiled amusement. “Go on, now.”
Pursing her lips, Evie marches over to the door and yanks it open. I follow her out to the patio, which is mercifully screened in. I don’t think I can handle any more mosquito bites. I sit down on a rickety little wicker loveseat, waiting for her to do the same, but she doesn’t. Instead, she paces around, her nervous energy spilling all over the place until it’s contaminated me. “Fuck, Evie, what ? You going to jail or something?”
“Might as well be,” she mutters, finally sitting beside me. When her bouncing knee starts shaking the loveseat, I put my hand on it, stilling her.
“My dad,” she says, swallowing convulsively. “Is in deep shit with lots of people, not just y’all. The Deschamps, too.”
I wait for her to go on, although I already know I’m not going to like this.
“He and Danny Deschamps made an agreement. If I marry Cole, all of Daddy’s debts to them will be canceled. And then they’ll pay off his other debts, too, because we’ll all be one big, happy family.” Her voice breaks, and she covers her face.
Anger ripples through me like a stormy sea, frustration crashing against the shores of my restraint. Evie’s being bartered off like chattel to cancel her father's debts? I knew that fucker was ruthless, but I never thought he’d stoop this low.
I squeeze her knee. “Your father can’t do that.” But he probably can. As bad as this is, I’ve seen worse. Men like Randall Doyle will do whatever it takes to cover their own asses. Even sacrifice the people they’re supposed to be protecting.
“He can, Tristan.” She’s breathing choppily, like she’s on the brink of hyperventilating. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he just got madder and madder. I live on his property … I have nowhere else to go. And even if I did leave, he’d find me. This is a small town—he knows everyone, and so do the Deschamps.” She looks up at me, her bright eyes wet and panicked.
“Is this why you avoided my calls today?” I shift to look at her, struggling to keep my voice even. “You should’ve told me right away.” Evie marrying Cole would be a disaster. Not only would it completely fuck our plans to take over Doyle’s distillery, but it would also bind Evie to someone she hates.
“Why, so you could counterattack?” Her eyes narrow, even as tears spill from them. “I wasn’t thinking about you, okay? I have enough shit to deal with on my own.”
She’s not totally wrong, but she doesn’t realize how much I actually care. About her, not just the distillery. “You’re not marrying that asshole, okay?”
Evie's lower lip trembles. “Once my father makes a deal, there's no going back.”
“He doesn't own you," I snap. “You're a person, not property. And that distillery is mine.”
“But—”
“Don’t underestimate me. You have no idea what I’m willing to do,” I say softly, gripping her chin. “What I want to know is, what are you willing to do?”
She blinks as my hand slides away. “Anything,” she whispers.
“We’ve known each other for a long time, Evie, and despite all of this bullshit, you do know me,” I say. “Do you trust me?”
It takes a long time, but eventually she gives me a single nod.
“Then marry me instead.”